Let us now consider works. Everyone in
the Bible demanded works—except Paul. Concerning
salvation, he said: “If it’s works, then it’s no longer
grace. And if it’s grace, then it’s no longer works”
(Romans 11:6). Those were plain words that even
I—ex-Catholic confused person—could understand. But were
they too radical to believe? They clashed with
everything else in the Bible. Reading Paul was like
wandering through a fun house where every mirror somehow
made you look better than you were:

Warning: Objects in mirror are more righteous than they
appear.

The rest of the Bible—with what
appeared to be an endless list of do’s and don’ts—set me
up for failure. Only Paul, it seemed, cut me slack. How
did this radical messenger of grace make it into
Scripture? God inspired Paul, did He not? Or did Paul
finagle his way into Holy Writ? How was I supposed to
make Paul fit with the other Bible writers? Or was it
possible that Paul was God’s radical, and he wasn’t
meant to fit?
The other writers exhorted me to change myself; I
considered them reformers. Paul, on the other hand, had
given up on me. To Paul, I was beyond reforming. Usually
when someone says, “You’re hopeless, kid,” it’s bad
news. But when Paul said it—it spelled relief. I could
never be acceptable to God—at least not by following all
the rules. So Christ accomplished things I could never
have accomplished for myself. I could never make myself
righteous, so Christ did it for me. All Christ now
wanted from me was thanks and a sigh of relief.

That, I could do.

My quirks never alarmed Paul. I
pictured myself approaching him like I used to approach
the priests once a month in those shadowy confessionals.
I would tell Paul my sins. But unlike the priest, Paul
would yawn and say:

Well, duh, Zender. That’s the old
humanity; what would you expect it to do? I’m surprised
you’re as good as you are. You’re probably worse than
you’re telling me. In any case, it doesn’t matter. Now
you are to think of yourself as having died with Christ
(Romans 6:8). News flash: The old humanity has been
crucified, Zender (Romans 6:6). God isn’t looking at the
old humanity anymore; He’s looking at Christ. Now, God
looks at you the same way. You are a new creation (2
Corinthians 5:17). Time to re-adjust your head.

Died with Christ? The old humanity
crucified? A new creation? This was not reformation—this
was something else entirely ...

* * *

FROM CHAPTER 3: IN THE BEGINNING

Paul’s thirteen letters are a radical
departure from the rest of Scripture, and I am including
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John in that group. The only
place in the Bible where you will find details
concerning God’s remedy for restoring the heavens is in
the thirteen letters of Paul. The only place in
Scripture where you will find law tossed out the window
is in the thirteen letters of Paul. The only books in
the entire Bible dealing with the special salvation of
Gentiles (non-Israelites), who sin as a vocation and
have never even heard of Moses—are the thirteen letters
of Paul.

Here, and here alone—in the thirteen letters of Paul—are
found the deepest depths of grace ever to be shed abroad
from God’s heart. I know how shocking this must sound.
It means that in the books of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and
John (including the red letters spoken by the earthly
Christ), you will not find the deepest depths of grace
ever to be shed abroad from God’s heart. Those books are
deliberately incapable of unfolding these depths. They
are only meant to confirm, for Israel, a promise God
gave their chief patriarch and forefather, Abraham.

At the end of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, grace was
still God’s greatest secret. There is some grace in
these four accounts for the sons and daughters of
Israel, but not the kind of grace Paul brought to the
nations. The name Paul gives this grace tells us a lot
about it ...

* * *

FROM CHAPTER 6: DAMASCUS ROAD

Since Genesis 1:1, God had ignored the
heavens. Not a single heavenly magistrate dared question
Him concerning this. “In the beginning, God created the
heavens and the Earth,” they often repeated amongst
themselves, “as for the Earth, it came to be a chaos and
vacant.” The tacit implication was that God had
unattended business. The Son had sacrificed Himself and
died for the sins of Israel, becoming the perfect
sacrifice for that disobedient nation in accord with the
Abrahamic promises, which, they knew, concerned the
restitution of Earth. Yet, were not the heavens in worse
straits?

For it is not ours to wrestle with
blood and flesh, but with the sovereignties, with the
authorities, with the world-mights of this darkness,
with the spiritual forces of wickedness among the
celestials.
—Ephesians 6:12, CLNT

There was another consideration—or so
one would think. It’s tempting for us moderns—sitting
here with the gift of hindsight—to imagine in that
distant day a celestial questioning of the scope of
Christ’s death. At first glance, it would seem that
Christ’s blood (spilled on the cross) did not reach
beyond Palestine. Would not such an astounding death as
Calvary’s overspill the boundaries of Judea? This
question never arose. Why would it? The eventual
fulfilling of the Abrahamic covenant seemed sufficient
blessing for dogs (Gentiles). What more could the other
nations want?

After all, the reign of fabled
blessing—the coming Millennium—would forever end the
Gentiles’ days of begging scraps from Israel’s table.
Wouldn’t it? Well, not exactly. Upon reconsideration, it
was begrudgingly conceded, among the angels
(celestials), that even in the promised earthly kingdom
the nations would still be considered second-class
citizens. Their blessing would exceed their present
distress, yes, but not without some song and dance for
the sake of their superiors. Zechariah had prophesied
concerning that time:

This is what the Lord of Armies says:
In those days ten people from every language found among
the nations will take hold of the clothes of a Jew. They
will say, “Let us go with you because we have heard that
God is with you.”
—Zechariah 8:23, NASB

But at least the scraps will be
bigger. Right?
God smiled at this celestial bantering, biding His time.

* * *

FROM CHAPTER 10: A RACEWIDE GOSPEL

The cross of Christ reached far deeper
into humanity’s need than merely giving one sad nation a
new heart. Each year, the Passover lamb was not
tortured; its throat was slit—that was it. Not so Christ
on the cross. Jesus Christ’s six hours of torture
touched an aspect of humanity’s condition that the
mercifully killed Passover lamb could not reach. The
Passover lamb leaves Israel intact—the cross wipes out
everything and everyone in its path. The cross of Christ
says:

The whole race is finished. Watch the
depth of suffering; see the six hours on the Roman
stake. We’re pulling humanity out by the roots here;
that’s how deep this goes. Forget Abraham and David;
we’re going back to Adam now. It’s that bad. When this
Man rises from the grave, a new creation will have come
into the lives of those believing it. Eventually, all
shall come to believe it. (As Paul makes clear in 1
Timothy 4:10—“We rely on the living God, Who is the
Savior of all humans, especially of those who believe.”)

Peter never taught this; he was not a
new creation. The new creation eliminates fleshly
distinctions, and Peter has to be an Israelite in the
kingdom—he has to be. Jesus told him he would sit on one
of twelve thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel
(Matthew 19:28).
Yet what does Paul say? “For whoever are baptized into
Christ, put on Christ, in Whom there is not Jew nor yet
Greek” (Galatians 3:27).

Peter never taught this; he couldn’t. He has to be a Jew
in the kingdom. Peter was not, and is not, in the body
of Christ.

Paul alone discusses how one man,
Adam, affects all humanity. Not coincidentally, Paul
alone boasts in the cross. Only Christ on the cross—not
the Lamb sacrificed for Israel—undoes the condemnation
of Adam.

No other writer discusses Adam. They
speak of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, David, Daniel. Paul
alone traces our entire spiritual history to the
inaugural human. Only through Paul’s message does the
entire race become new. The Hebrew Scriptures demanded a
new birth for Israel. Paul’s teachings are to the new
birth what a well is to a tea saucer.

Now I know why Paul always seemed like Mr. Absolute to
me. Why I always sensed he went deeper. Because he did
go deeper. I failed to see specifically then that Paul
was the only writer returning us to Adam, relating
Adam’s failure to the manner of Christ’s death, and
removing the old humanity by the roots.

When I was a kid, one of my chores was
to pull dandelions. My dad always said: “Get ‘em by the
root.”

The gospel of the Circumcision does
not get humanity by the root. Rather, it remakes
humanity. It takes the raw material of the present
creation and fashions it anew. This is what being “born
again” means. “Born again” puts God’s spirit into
Israelite flesh, so that Israel can at last enact God’s
commandments. Being born again merely spruces up the old
humanity; it reforms it. No wonder the other writers
always struck me as reformers; they were reformers.
Modern so-called men of God always wanted me born again.
I never embraced that. I needed more. My root was wrong.
Fix me today, and I am back in a month to re-confess my
sins, as the Catholic church did to me. They never
extracted my sin by the root. Their fix was a Band-Aid;
ten “Our Fathers” and ten “Hail Marys,” and I was back
next month—back on the wheel like a gerbil. The root
never left me. (Protestant churches aren’t much
different. Protestants say you must confess your sins
each day or you’ll be “out of fellowship” with God, and
then poor, helpless God can’t bless you.)

Thus also, Israel. With Israel, flesh
is still recognized. In Israel, Jew and Greek remain. As
I said, these must remain, because there are twelve
thrones in the kingdom, representing the twelve tribes
of Israel. What about Paul’s throne? There are not
thirteen thrones. I wondered about this. Poor Paul. He
was the most awesome, energetic apostle of them all.
Where was his throne? Now I know: Paul does not have a
throne on Earth; his future is not tied to Earth. Only
Paul announced the truth: “There is neither Jew nor
Greek.” This was beyond radical. Peter never did quite
understand. Not be a Jew? How could it be? Yet Paul, in
the book of Philippians, despises his nationality and
throws it away. Either this is dangerous and stupid—or
else it sits at the core of the most liberating message
ever to visit humanity ...

* * *

Paul pronounced a curse on the message
that mixed law and grace, the very message that reigns
today in the modern Christian church. This mixed message
confuses and disturbs, breeding fear, false guilt, and
shame. Many people hearing this mixed message wonder if
they are really saved. Those hoping for truth in the
realm of Christianity see some light in the writings of
Paul, but then they read James and despair comes.
Something in Romans thrills them, such as: “There is no
more condemnation in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1), but
then here comes Peter. Or here comes James. Or Jude. Or
Hebrews. Or here come even the red letters of Christ.

What these folks fail to realize (no
one has ever told them) is that the red letters of
Christ, while inspired, are not the final words of
Christ.

“If I have told you earthly things and you do not
believe, how will you believe if I tell you heavenly
things?” (John 3:12).

What follows when people mix the two gospels, then, is
the guilt and condemnation of religion; it’s a
pseudo-grace in Israelite garb that attempts to couple
“total grace” with a do-this-or-else mentality. How few
people read the address on Scriptural envelopes; how few
distinguish between what is theirs and what belongs to
Israel.

They open other peoples’ mail and try
to pay other peoples’ bills.

On the one hand, the Christian
religion will say you are a new creation in Christ, and
all your sins are justified. On the other hand (the hand
they slap you with), they will say you’d better confess
your sins and at least attempt to reform yourself before
Christ returns and finds you slacking. Otherwise, how do
you know if you’re even saved?

Identifying the source of this
confusion will grant you a peace and security in Christ
that you’ve probably never known ...

* * *

FROM CHAPTER 14: EMBRACE THE NEW
MESSAGE

Many times, I have been in the
presence of those who hear Paul’s message but don’t
understand him. They even say, “I don’t get Paul.” I
speak to these folks of: “our identification with
Christ,” being “complete in Christ,” being “crucified
with Christ,” “transcendent grace,” of God “reconciling
the heavens and the Earth to Himself,” of “the
conciliation of the world,” of the God Who is “operating
all in accord with the counsel of His own will,” of,
“one died for the sake of all, consequently all died,”
of the “new creation,” and of, “as in Adam all are
dying, thus also in Christ shall all be vivified.” What
do I get in return? Blank stares. Furrowed brows. Sighs
of exasperation.

The people hearing these things become
transformed. A light goes on inside them. They love all
things Israel. They love the idea of being worthy of
salvation. They love the idea of working. They love the
idea of law. They love the idea of priesthood and
ceremony and a people set above all other people. They
love the brown-haired, bearded, sandaled Jesus. They
love Jerusalem; many of them want to visit the Holy
Land, or be baptized in the Jordan River. The rite of
baptism fascinates them; they can’t wait to get wet.
They love ceremony. They love candles and angels and
burning incense.

Again, try bringing Paul to them, and
it’s like speaking Japanese to a Frenchman. Truly, they
don’t get Paul. Paul is “too hard.” Paul is “too
intellectual.”

Thing is, they can’t make grace jive
with law. If truly given the choice between law and
grace, they will choose law every time. Why in the world
would anyone do that? Religious humans love the idea of
outperforming other humans. Law allows this. The
Israelite message makes room for fleshly distinction and
accomplishment.

I finally understand who these people
are, and why they don't get it ...